my glimpse into heaven.

Matthew 18:2-6 "And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, "Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven...."

anyone who knows my son, knows he gets excited – really excited – about some funny things.

i can say, "caleb, we're having chicken for dinner," and his entire face will light up. he'll gasp, stomp his feet and shout, "chicken, chicken, chicken, YAY!"

and if i tell him to get his coat because “we gotta go,” his whole body becomes consumed with anticipation about where we may end up.

“are we going to see the big train?” “can i hold a crab?” “are we going in the big truck?” “can we go see the tracks?” “can i bring my lion?"

and during this barrage of questioning, he is scurrying around trying to gather his things so we won’t leave without him.

even if we are just going to the grocery store to get diapers, his passionate nature doesn't disappoint.

“oh, can i drive the car?” “i wanna go to Safeway!” “i wanna bring my lion and my water.”

the other day i was at whole foods, pushing caleb in one of those ridiculous kid carts with the big car attached to it. he was happily steering and singing songs while we cruised down the aisles. i was kind of lost in my own world, perusing all of the yummy, healthy and crazy expensive goodies around me – but i started to notice that a lot of people were stopping to smile at caleb. i finally looked down to see what he was doing. there he was with the brightest, happiest smile, maneuvering his car and belting out “three little monkeys jumping on the bed.” by the look on his face, you’d think we were at Disneyland.

i knew he had been singing, but i somehow tuned it out. i knew he’d be excited to drive the car, but i somehow was content with letting him play by himself so i could do my own thing.

good thing the faces of strangers ushered me back into his magical world. these are the moments i too often take for granted. this is the joy i unwittingly miss because of distractions far less important.

that same evening, after carting caleb around on several different errands, we decided to take a family walk on the beach.

as soon as i took him out of the car, he began exclaiming, "mommy, look at the boats!" "mommy, look, there's the water!" "mommy, i want to see a train!" "mommy, are we gonna go in a tunnel?"

as we strolled down the street on that beautiful, golden day, he was running, galloping, jumping up and down. he was throwing his hands in the air for no reason and shrieking with delight.

he was dancing with his shadow. singing songs at the top of his lungs. hugging every fire hydrant he came across.

he would stop to look at the gorgeous blue water and talk to the ducks and fish.

he chatted with people as they walked by and made everyone smile.

this time i wasn’t preoccupied. i wasn’t doing my own thing. i kept my eyes glued to him. and the joy in his heart transferred into mine.

i love this boy. i enjoy him. i’m proud of him.

and as i stared at him in delight, i added a new verb to add to my list.

i admire him. i want what he has.

i want to find joy in the most simple things.

i want to smile and talk to people without fear of rejection.

i want to gallop down the street with my hands in the air. and maybe hug a fire hydrant or two.

i want to sing at the top of my lungs.

i want to see the beauty of creation – of the ocean and the sky and birds and the trees – and have it never get old no matter how many times i see it.

i want to throw my arms around the people i love and make them feel like a million bucks.

and i want his short memory – the way he can be mad at me one minute, then shower me with kisses the next.

i want the simple discipline he has in his life that tells him to say sorry to those you’ve wronged right then and there. there’s no waiting until tomorrow. there’s no mulling over it, contemplating who did what first … there’s just that simple action that you hurt or disobeyed and you need to own up to it and say sorry.

i want that faith he has in his heart. that if he runs to us, we’ll always scoop him up in our arms and hold him close. that if he says sorry, we’ll always forgive him. that if he asks for anything that is good and beneficial for him, we’ll always want to give it to him.

yes, i envy this. the wonder, joy and faith of a child.

seeing the world through his eyes gives me major glimpses into heaven.

he reminds me that one day i’ll be more like him. i’ll be jumping down gold-paved streets, joyfully proclaiming all the wonders i see to my Father, running into His arms and knowing He’ll catch me and hold me close. and never let go.

i hope when caleb is older - when he is a man with a job and responsibilities and family of his own - i can look at him and tell him that he has not lost his child-like faith, excitement and sense of wonder. that he continues to make everyone around him feel like a million bucks. that he still easily forgives, trusts and loves. that he still has the most infectious smile in the world. and that he never in all of our years together, not even for one day, has failed to give his mama glimpses into heaven.

second child syndrome.

my poor second child.

she hasn't gotten the monthly love letters.

i haven't documented every time she has smiled, looked at her hands, grabbed a toy, or held her head up.

i don't snap a million pictures at doctor's appointments while the nurse looks at me like "let me do my job, lady."

i haven't gotten her professional pictures done. yes, folks. no pictures of the little toes or fingers and none - not even a single one - of her in a basket.

i don't check babycenter.com twice every day to see how she should be developing.

i don't always put baby oil on her after baths and i don't make sure she listens to mozart 30 times a day.

something happens with your second. maybe it's that your time is too divided with your first. or that you are less paranoid about whether she's doing everything by the book. or that you are tired. so very tired.

but something else that happens, too - you enjoy. even if she spends most of her days screaming. you hold her tight. you bounce and sway and you figure it out. and you stare at her for hours and hope she knows with certainty that you'd walk off a cliff, jump in shark-infested waters, give up every last thing you owned for her. like in a second.

you are able to endure those hard newborn days with new lenses. lenses that are able to see through the fog - beyond - to when she is singing twinkle twinkle little star by herself, when she is running up to people with outstretched arms giving them hugs, when she is saying "i love YOU, mommy." you know those days are just around the corner and you can't wait for them, but still, it reminds you to slow down. to stop. to enjoy these days when all she wants from you is to hold her, rock her, stare into her eyes and tell her there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

i know, sweet love. i'm a second child, too. we get the shaft sometimes. but we are also adored. we get to be the precious babies of the family. we get to get our older siblings in trouble. we get to play the youngest child card.

for. the. rest. of. our. lives.

not a bad deal.

i promise. you are going to like this gig.

ode to colic.

Colic.

What are you anyway? Just some vague term that is supposed to explain to me why my baby cries endlessly.

Why our lives have been turned upside down.

You are a bad word. A very bad word.

You try my patience a million times every day.

Because I want answers. I want there to be a remedy. And your only real remedy is time.

I don’t think I believe in you. I need to call you “reflux” or “allergies” or I need to just find another word for you. I need you to be a specific thing that can be treated.

You affect about 20 percent of babies. I had pretty good odds of never meeting you. Yet here you are.

You are such a mystery , but what I do know about you, I so hate.

I hate that you are making my baby hurt. And that that hurt makes her scream. All. The. Time.

I hate that you intruded on this precious time we have with her.

I hate that you have robbed us of our “normal” life.

I hate the tears I’ve shed because of you and the time I’ve wasted thinking about how much I hate you.

I hate that you spare 80 percent of babies, but you didn’t spare mine.

I hate that you are exhausting and without mercy.

I hate that you tempt me to be resentful and sometimes make me forget how lucky I am.

I hate that you affect not just Kenzie, but Caleb too because you rob us of time with him.

But I will tell you this. You will not win. One day you’ll be out of our lives and we won’t give you a second thought.

And by the way, you are tough, but you aren’t that tough. There are far worse things that are bigger and badder than you. And we will gladly take you over those other things.

So don’t think you’ve defeated us.

If you were a person, I’d throw cotton balls at you.

Stupid colic.

Whatever you are.

Go away and leave my family alone.

my little girl.

 dear makenzie,

yesterday we were bringing you home from the hospital. you were new and tiny, all cozy and bundled in my arms. i rested in the knowledge that we had months ahead of us.

today, we took you to daycare for the first time.

it hurts. a lot. my heart is a little broken.

for the past three months we had our little routine. when it got disrupted by "colic" or allergies or whatever it was, we dealt with it. i was the lucky one who got to be with you 24/7. because everyone else mostly saw crying and frowning, but i got to see amazing, blazing smiles so bright that they put the sun to shame. i got to hear sweet coos and feel precious snuggles. i got to see improvement. i got to know you better than anyone.

lucky, lucky me.

it's always hard to let go. it's hard to know if you are doing the right thing. if you'll be okay without me.

that's why i'm a little broken.

here's why i'm not all the way broken.

God has had His hand on us. He has given me patience that i didn't know i had. He has enabled your little brother to be a little angel during our rough, screaming-for-hours days. He has given you a daddy and me a  husband who loves us passionately, takes care of us and would do anything for us.

and today, because of Him, i put you into hands that weren't mine and i know you will be okay. this place has changed our lives and given us so much peace.

my heart was fully broken two years ago when i had to leave your brother for the first time. i didn't know what to expect. i didn't know who i was handing him to, and i felt such anguish and guilt.

but today i know, without a doubt, this place and these people are amazing. the hands, though they aren't mine, they are incredible hands. they are hands that will love you and know you more and more each day.

so kenzie girl. i can't believe it's this time for us already. you are the best, THE BEST baby and you are my love. you are the sweetest girl in the whole world. i see it. your smiles bring me to tears, and not just because they have been so hard to come by these past few weeks, but because they are just that good.

today was hard, but it's just a day. i'm going to see you soon and i'm going to squeeze you and love on you like nobody's business.

this will always be my song for you kiddo, because i feel like our whole lives started with you. you made us complete. i have never known such love.

i love you forever, little girl. you have given me every good thing in the world and i want to spend my life giving it right back to you.

mom